Hired a Gigolo Got a Billionaire (Zoey and Christian) novel Chapter 624

Chapter 624

Nicholas’ POV

I turned off the engine and sat there for a second, hands still gripping the steering wheel, like I could throw the car into reverse and pretend I’d driven to the wrong city.

I didn’t.

The garage was too clean and organized. Expensive cars filled the spaces around me. Mine looked like it had wandered in by mistake.

I followed the signs to the elevators, trying to ignore the creeping sense that I didn’t belong here.

The panel was stainless steel, polished like a mirror. Above the buttons, a small screen asked for a code. I remembered what the doorman had said, pulled out the slip of paper he’d handed me, and typed it in.

A discreet beep. The penthouse button lit up.

The doors slid closed, and suddenly it was just me and my reflection. Stubble. Simple shirt. The kind of exhaustion that never really leaves.

For a second, Renee’s message flashed through my mind again.

‘You have no idea who Gwen really is.”

I closed my eyes and took a slow breath.

I knew enough. I knew who she had been with me. For now, that was what mattered.

The elevator chimed and the doors opened.

The penthouse corridor was silent, thick carpet swallowing my footsteps. Only one door at the end.

I rang the bell before I could overthink it.

A few seconds later, the door opened.

Gwen stood there.

Barefoot. Jeans. A simple white T-shirt. Her hair pulled up in a messy bun. No heels. No designer dress.

Just Gwen.

“Hi,” she said, smiling. The same smile from the estate, just in a completely different setting. “You made

it.”

T

not in my stomach loosened slightly.

e it,” I said, unable to stop my eyes from drifting over her shoulder.

“Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “Welcome to… the chaos.”

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I walked through the door and stopped.

The apartment was flooded with natural light. Massive windows opened up to Florentia. Terracotta rooftops, domes, bell towers. A postcard view.

Light wood floors. A large neutral-toned couch piled with cushions. Modern art on the walls. Framed photos. A bookshelf lined with wine books, marketing titles, novels, and even a children’s book.

It wasn’t flashy or screaming for attention. But every detail whispered expensive.

“You live… here?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.

Gwen glanced around as if she were seeing it through my eyes.

“It’s a bit much, I know,” she said with an awkward half-smile. “It’s a family apartment, so… But yes. I’m the one living here right now.”

Family.

Right.

There was a whole part of her story I’d never fully seen.

“You never…” I started, but the words died in my throat.

She bit her lip.

“I know,” she said quietly. “It’s a little…. different from what you imagined, isn’t it?”

That was one way to put it.

I looked around again.

A jacket tossed over a chair. Sneakers near the couch. A coffee mug with a faint ring at the bottom sitting on the table. It was lived in. Real.

But it was still a penthouse on the most elegant street I’d ever set foot on.

“Come here,” she said softly, touching my arm. “Let me show you the view.”

She led me to the glass doors that opened onto the terrace.

The city stretched out below us, glowing in the late afternoon light. I recognized the cathedral’s dome, the old clock tower rising over the rooftops, and a stretch of the river glinting in the distance. Everything felt both closer and farther away at the same time.

‘eaned against the railing.

…od beside her.

“When I came to Florentia to stay,” she said, “the city wasn’t the problem. What scared me was something else. This stopped being a stopover and became… a base. And I arrived carrying a weight that

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felt paralyzing.”

I tried to picture that version of her.

“I used to stand right here,” she continued, glancing down at the streets below, “looking down there and trying to figure out where I fit.”

“And now?” I asked. “Did you figure it out?”

She thought for a moment.

“Some days, yes,” she said. “Other days, it still feels like I’m trying.”

Before I could ask more, she stepped back, like she’d decided that was enough vulnerability for now.

“Are you hungry?” she asked. “I promised myself I wouldn’t welcome you to Florentia with nothing but some tourist-packed restaurant.”

“You don’t have to worry, I-”

“Relax,” she cut in, lifting a hand. “I can’t cook, but I know how to use an oven and a plate. Sometimes that’s all civilization really demands of us.”

I laughed. “I’ll admit I’m curious. About the food and about the concept of you in a kitchen.”

She lifted her chin in mock offense.

“For

your

information, I’ve managed not to starve for years,” she said, then added more honestly, “with a very well-stocked freezer, obviously.”

“That sounds much more believable,” I teased.

She motioned for me to follow her back inside.

“Come on. I’ll improvise something now, and then I’ll show you the part of Florentia that actually matters. Not just the part with the expensive ZIP code.”

I followed her into the apartment, everything still feeling too big, too polished, and me… too aware of it.

She disappeared briefly into the open kitchen. From the couch, I could see her open the freezer and pull out a glass dish covered in plastic wrap, then reach into the fridge. Several containers were neatly stacked, labeled in handwriting I knew wasn’t hers.

These weren’t takeout boxes.

They were real dishes. Homemade food.

ed the tomato sauce in the microwave, stirred it, tasted it off the tip of the spoon, and smiled to cself like she recognized something familiar. She grabbed a good loaf of bread from the counter, sliced it slightly unevenly, arranged the pieces on a tray, and drizzled olive oil over them.

She didn’t look like someone who cooked.

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She looked like someone people cooked for. And who was still trying, in her own way, to serve me something that felt like more than just bread with whatever on top.

I stood alone in the middle of the living room for a few seconds.

That’s when I noticed the photos.

One in particular caught my eye, in a simple frame on the bookshelf.

Gwen and Christian, younger, standing in a vineyard that definitely wasn’t mine. The rows stretched endlessly behind them. The estate in the background was bigger than any property I’d ever seen up close. And behind them, carved into stone, was part of a last name I couldn’t quite read from where I stood.

I took a step closer, trying to focus.

“Hey,” Gwen called from the kitchen. “Come here. I promise it tastes good.”

I glanced at the photo one last time, at that piece of truth I didn’t yet understand, and turned toward her.

For now, I could still pretend Gwen’s world fit inside this apartment. Inside this weekend. Inside the smile she was offering me from the kitchen, holding a piece of bread like it was the most normal thing in

the world.

But deep down, I already knew.

No world stays small forever.

D

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